


Silver Tongue

by valiantlybold



Series: Bounce A Coin Bingo [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, geralt gets his ass ate, thats all it is, thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: Like it says on the can: Geralt gets his ass ate and that's about it
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Bounce A Coin Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905457
Comments: 8
Kudos: 230





	Silver Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> my first square in my first bingo! get ready for more snippets of smut bc my card is ALL filth! ;)

Geralt can feel his body _itching_ all over as they leave the banquet hall.

The party is still going on behind them, despite the late hour. Most of the nobles left are drunk off their arses, and Geralt made the executive decision for himself and Jaskier to bid them all a good night before some drunk fool caused a ruckus of any real sort. Best to get out while they still can.

He didn’t really remember what Jaskier had promised him _before_ the party, until theyre already halfway back to their promised room in the palace. Fuck, the conversation makes his hair stand on end when he remembers, but in a better way than usual.

 _(“I know you’re grumpy about this, love, and don’t give me those eyes, you know as well as I do that those are your_ grumpy _eyes! It’s just a few hours! You can even sit in the corner and brood, and eat and drink to your Witchery heart’s content! It’s free food, free booze, and a free bed! Melitele’s oiled thighs, Geralt, we’ll be getting_ paid _to go to the party! And_ you _don’t even have to do anything! I’m the one doing all the work, with my angelic voice and my darling lute!”_

_“Hm.”_

_“Oh, come on, darling!_ Oh! _How about this? If you come to the party_ and _behave yourself all evening,_ then _I’ll give you a_ very _special little treat once we retire to our room for the night. How does that sound?”_

_“Hm…”_

_“Excellent! So it’s a deal, then? Be a good boy, then you will, like all good boys do, get a lovely little treat.”_

_“Hm.”)_

Geralt probably wouldn’t use exactly those words but as Jaskier put it, he _had_ been a “good boy” all evening. Didn’t start any arguments, didn’t get in any fight, didn’t throw table knives at rats (or people), made pleasant conversation to the best of his ability, used his best table manners while eating, and so on.

He wonders what sort of “treat” Jaskier’s planning to give him. Just thinking about this little uncertainly makes Geralt’s slow heart beat a little faster.

Jaskier opens the door to their room, smiling and holding it open for Geralt to enter first. The Witcher swallows tightly and enters. Once the door closes, Jaskier starts talking. They start readying themselves for bed. Sparks strike down Geralt’s spine as they both undress on either side of the big double bed. He knows Jaskier’s just letting him squirm for a bit; he does that sometimes. It’s like he likes watching Geralt _squirm_ for him, watching Geralt struggle with the urge to ask for what he wants and the shame of _wanting._

The bard climbs into bed. He moves the pillows around and pushes the covers aside and Geralt doesn’t really understand what he’s doing, except the sight of miles and miles of Jaskier’s beautiful skin in plain view makes the Witcher’s blood flow south.

He watches Jaskier lay down flat on the bed, watches him paw at his soft cock and lure it to grow hard.

Jaskier lifts his head, looking at Geralt with a grin. “Well, come on, then! Get up here! Your seat awaits, my dear Witcher,” he says, gesturing to his own face.

Geralt’s eyes go wide.

_Oh._

Geralt stumbles as he kicks off his trousers then scrambles to climb up on the bed. Jaskier licks his lips as though faced with a wonderfully delicious meal. On the bard’s direction, the Witcher straddles his head. He faces towards the wall and leans somewhat on the ornate headboard of the bed, while goosebumps sprout all over his body from Jaskier’s feather-light touches on his thighs.

“Mh, thats my lovely Witcher, that,” Jaskier hums.

Geralt can feel heat all but _radiating_ from his face as Jaskier’s firm hands settle on his hips.

“Come now, sweetheart, let’s give you your treat, shall we?”

By the hips, Geralt is guided to lower himself. He bites his tongue at the soft, hot breaths of air on his most sensitive skin. It takes everything in him not to gasp when he feels a clever tongue skirt around his rim.

Jaskier kisses up his perineum, noses and mouths at his heavy balls, making the most _awful_ noises of sheer delight. Geralt’s long since fully hard; precum beads at his slit, welling over to slide lazily down the shaft. He feels every touch like ice on his fire-hot skin.

As if knowing exactly what Geralt’s thinking (and Gods, they’ve been together for so long now, he probably _does),_ Jaskier decides to be done with teasing. He pulls Geralt closer still, pressing his mouth fully to Geralt’s hole. He kisses and laps at his rim, tongue pressing inside little by little in small strokes. He moans against Geralt body, like he _loves_ to do this.

Fuck, Jaskier’s tongue, Geralt knows its skilled but he always forgets that it’s talented at more than just _talking incessantly._ His hole drips with spit; Jaskier’s all but feral between his thighs. He fucks his wonderful tongue into Geralt’s hole, teases him open, works his tight rim to loosen for him, letting him press a spit-slick finger inside as well.

Geralt can’t hold it in anymore; his head falls back limply with a breathy moan. He can hardly stop his body from moving. His hips buck, but he tries so hard to _not_ do it.

Jaskier gasps under him, as if coming up for breath during a swim. “That’s is, sweet Witcher, ride my face, darling, fuck yourself on my tongue for me, won’t you?”

_Fuck._

The bard buries his face, removing his finger and replacing it with his tongue again. Now with permission to move, Geralt lets his body rock under the influence of breath-taking pleasure. He grinds down against Jaskier’s pretty face, allowing his tongue to slip deeper for the slightest moment; like Jaskier inelegantly put it, Geralt fucks himself on the bard’s tongue.

He wraps his hand around his cock, slicked by leaking precum, and hardly has to give himself more than a handful of strokes before he’s all but _convulsing_ with an orgasm. Panting for breath, he watches, dazed, as his seed lands across the carved headboard. Shit, they’ll have to remember to clean that up before leaving, or they’ll both get screwed (and not in the fun sort of way).

He makes sure to fall to the side, onto the bed, instead of collapsing onto Jaskier. He does expect the idiot to die due to an ill-conceived _conquest_ one day, but Geralt would prefer not to be the _conquest_ nor the _killer._

“Did you like your treat, darling?” Jaskier asks, panting.

Geralt pants too, staring up at the ceiling as he tries to catch his breath. “Very much so.”

The bard chuckles. “Lovely! Now, won’t you be a dear and give me a little treat in return?”

Geralt smiles. He looks over at the bard pawing at his own cock. Really, there’s nothing in the world Geralt would rather do at this moment…


End file.
